At what point are you able to just move on?

Once again I find myself bawling, sitting here in front of the screen trying to find out how to run away, start all over again.

Once again I am reminded like a slap in the face that I will never be a mother.

The wife of a friend just announced that she is pregnant. And instead of being happy for her, I am wracked with pain, with a feeling of being incomplete. A failure. While I should be congratulating her, I am instead wallowing in my own little hell.

When will I get over this? When will I ever just accept the fact that motherhood is not in my future?

Will I ever be ok with it? Will I ever be content with all of the wonderful things that my life is made up of?

Why am I so horrible?

Not a peon.

That does it.

I am 40 years old. I have no business being in a position where I am a peon. I am educated, and intelligent. How the hell did I let this happen?

No matter. I love my job, and I have had a good run. This is my last week before I move on to the next phase in my life and I am happy for it.

Lots of changes coming up. I've got work to do.

I always swore this wouldn't be my life.

A full pill box.

Granted, it is mostly multivitamins and supplements, but there are real prescriptions in there, too. One, to treat an unexplained inflammation, and another to treat the possible destruction of my stomach as a result of the first. It is the start of a downward spiral that I don't want to get sucked into.


 I've made excuses for years. I've continued to promise myself with each life event that "this is the perfect opportunity" to start again. Well, I keep failing, and I am SO. TIRED. OF. FAILING.

I was watching various women who appear to be my age and older today as I was shopping. I was taking note of their body shapes, their posture, their skin, hairstyle, clothing. I noted what I want to be and what I am becoming. They are *very* different people. But what is the difference?

Fitness. Confidence. One obviously cared about herself and was not ashamed of that fact, and the other obviously did not.

Rather, it isn't that the second type didn't care about herself. She did. But she *felt* old. She *felt* unattractive. She obviously put others before herself to the detriment of herself. She was dressed decently though certainly not stylishly. Her hair was done and makeup on, but very "age appropriate" and grandmotherly.

The first type, however, was sporty, outgoing, with excellent posture and bright clear skin.

It really was one type or the other.

Guess which type I am becoming?

Oh lordy, no. SCREEEECH! We're bringing that train to a HALT and reversing course!

One year goal: Fit Punk

It is time for me to start visualizing my life. It is time to set some goals and make. Things. HAPPEN.

One year from now, May 1, 2014.

* I will run a 5k.
* I will weigh less than 150 pounds.
* I will be no more than a size 10. 
* I will do at least 15 push ups.

I'm going to start there. Seems simple and straightforward, and that's what I need. 

Spending money for good cause.

Massive shopping trip today, about $200 spent on food.

While my jaw dropped at the price tag, I came home with LOTS of food. Good food. Real food.

So what's on the menu this week?

I've got three recipes from this month's Clean Eating Magazine, including Eggplant & Sweet Potato Stir Fry, Smoked Salmon Dill Spread (with carrot sticks), and Chicken Sweet Potato Hash.

Stacked Roasted Vegetable Enchiladas 

 “Creamy” Chicken Tomato Soup

Lots of incredibly yummy, healthy stuff. Plus, I picked up no small amount of fresh fruit for snacks.

My goal for this week is simple: I will follow the mantra of my new favorite food blog, Thug Kitchen.

"Eat Like You Give a Fuck." 

Which reminds me, there is one more recipe: Spinach Cooler

Alright, off to do a little meditation, then a little work. Peace out, ya'll.

Eat like you give a fuck.

A neighbor just posted the most AMAZING blog to Facebook, and I have to share it here, if only to keep it on my mind.

Thug Kitchen. Eat Like You Give a Fuck.

Weighed myself this morning and found a shocking 190 pounds. I've gained TWELVE FUCKING POUNDS. I feel it. I feel thick, swollen.

Granted, I just came off an ultra-high dose of prednisone and knew I would gain weight and swell. But this, this ain't cool.

Back on the bandwagon again.

This time, however, I'm meditating on it. I'm asking for a little help from the universe around me. I don't do that often, but I need it this time.

So here we go...